Type of Prey
by Rin0rourke
Summary: It wasn't that he had stopped chasing him, he simply chased him in a different way. Collection of shorts. M/M Starry
1. Captured

The city moved.

It didn't pulse or beat, as most cities were described to do, it wasn't an organ in a body, wasn't a tide at sea forever ebbing and flowing. It was more a snake or rat, infested with mites and viruses and other microbial beings all working diligently to devour it even as they needed it to live. It squirmed and writhed and shifted in discomfort, and yes, it died.

And all that was good died with it, and the vermin infestation lived, and crawled over the corpse.

He woke in the dark, early morning hours, as was he habit. morning was slow, even the criminals slept and no respectable citizen, what was left of them, moved about at such times save the insomnia ridden midnight snackers and the night shift workers. the early morning risers ruled this time between day and night, the transition period. he shifted, as his city did, trying not to wake the body beside him. he was made of stealth and silence, but even he had a hard time slipping out of bed undetected. So he merely shifted, half rolled to get his phone from the nightstand, the soft glow alerting him of the messages he had ignored in favor of the mattress and oblivion.

Mat wanted him to be a chaperone on his next field trip, claiming "Mom the rule monster" wouldn't be any fun at the beach, and his friends thought he was seriously iced.

He'd talk to Mr. Wayne about it.

Speaking of, Bruce had sent him a message regarding Mad Stan's parole hearing next week, and that he'd spoken with Mat "since you were busy" and yes, he could survive a board meeting without a shadow for his dayjob.

He'd have to speak with the old man about monitoring his phone, the paranoid old bat.

Max got her detective shield, he was quick to send a congratulatory reply and a question of if this meant she was back on patrol. Since her reply was equally as fast he assumed that yes, Batgirl was back in business. he couldn't help but grin at her snarky message regarding Gordon and spent the next few minutes trading complaints about having the same boss and mentor in both their places of employment and in their vigilante activities.

The old man would have something to say about that when he read his text history in the morning, right to privacy much?

There was the old message again, the one from Dana. he stopped his scroll to glance open it and read it again, as he had done every morning. Shifting again, this time closer to the body beside him he wondered why he hadn't deleted it yet.

"Take care of the people who love you," and he had been so stupid to ride off that small bit of wisdom and bought the ring. Stupid to believe simply because she hadn't left after all his disappearances and canceled dates and excuses she'd have actually wanted him for good. why drag it on so long then? Guess they both just hadn't known how to end it. Flipping the phone closed again he turned his back on the apology and towards onyx eyes set into a face the color of strong coffee.

"If you're going to wake up, at least change your breathing. I was trying to be quiet for nothing." he whispered and sighed when a hand traced the curve of his shoulder.

"Instict, and I enjoy watching you, you make faces when you text, like your talking." lips brushed his, curving his mouth into a smile.

''I figured you'd have had enough of watching me without my knowing," he teased. "Such a Stalker."

A deep laugh was his reward and he felt the melancholy he woke to every morning lift. One day he might just roll out of bed happy. "Never," and he was swept under a mountain of muscle, his hands tracing the designs of tattoos and scars, "never" and that sensuous full lipped mouth was lowering to his and he said that name, that title again on a sigh.

"Stalker."

He'd been out nearly three hours, which was a good length of sleep for him if one went by past records, but he felt rested and energized, and wanting. He pulled him closer, bit the shoulder his hand had settled on, swept his lips up that strong thick neck to the square jaw, felt the heavy weight settle on him. Their hands moved over each other, cupping, stroking, memorizing what was already known. He moaned, quivered when a big hand lifted his hips, when fingers opened him, filled him, teased him to pleasure. The shock of it had long since faded, he was comfortable with the feeling, the preparation. his trembling went to shudders, shivering into earth quakes within his body that quickened his breath.

Surrender was never something he'd thought he'd have given, even in bed, to anyone. but he was soft here, in this big bed with this man, he could relinquish control here, could feel here in a way he couldn't with anyone else. he wrapped his arms around that wide back when the hand disappeared, took a breath that hitched when he was filled, let it out in a sigh that became a name.

They watched eachother, moved together, breathed as one, owned one another.

He had started out as the ultimate prey, and maybe that had never changed. maybe it had just become a different way of capturing, of possessing, but this, this thing between them was more than simple pleasure, more than belonging, maybe even more than love. It was an understanding of sorts.

A need, for this, for eachother, for what they had together. take care of the people who love you she had said, and at the time he hadn't figured an enemy into the equation.

Guess thats where he and Wayne would always be different. He couldn't find the paths, the steps, the many different twists and turns in the road. He was still working on the detective aspect of his job, and so this had surprised him in a way few things could. But he didn't mind.

So like every morning he settled back, content, against the chest of his lover and scrolled through the news reports on his phone, sent his replys to a few emails from coworkers and Wayne-Powers and checked over his boss's schedule, confirming a meeting with Gordon on a homicide they worked last week, and checked his brothers progress report from the martial arts instructor Wayne had found for him.

After all, Batman needed a Robin.

* * *

Rin has a little crush on this pairing, and I have a lot of shorts for them. I pieced them together as best I could, but i think a few of those paragraphs belong to a different story.

Rin is of the opinion that Max was on her way to being Batgirl when the show went off air, and Mat would have made a great Robin one day. I never watched the show, but from what i hear, it fits.

Probably should have picked something other than bisclarvet to work on, since its proving to be harder than i origonally thought, so i'm doing a few shorts on the side. see you in a few days.

_ni_K_ola_


	2. Window Watcher

Once again he observed, crouched as he was outside his target's window. It was rare for this one to be home at this time, much rarer for him to be asleep, but his prey had been up for the past thirty-six hours, trailing some deranged individual, stopping bombs and saving lives.

How heroic.

Then when all was done he had drug himself home, up through this very window, and had crawled onto his bed fully clothed and above the covers.

As he had many times before he stole into the room in silence. He wondered what Terry would do if his mother came in at that moment, checking up on her children as she often did in the night, and saw his choice of evening wear. Cautiously he pulled the covers from beneath the prone form and drew them to the chin, smoothing down the wrinkles in a gentle, one could say loving way.

A time ago he had convinced himself, or attempted to, that a discovery would be hindering to his chase. If someone found out about the man, about the bat, well he would be difficult to deal with on a fair and level field. It couldn't be helped, he needed watching over, to be sure that no one would snatch his kill from him. Of course this also applied to his enemies, who were the largest threat. As unworthy as they were, they often enough found a way under Batman's guard, by cunning, coincidence, or simple stupidity.

Such cowardly excuses, evasive thinking in defense of an emotion he wasn't quite ready to all felt like long ago, weeks in reality, but a lifetime for him regardless. And now? Would he admit to it now? No, not while he hovered over his prey, his obsession, he didn't know his own restraint so well, and worried the outcome should he let these...urges get the better of him while the teen was so helplessly laid out. Wounded animals were never fun to hunt, it was distasteful, without honor, and demeaning to them both.

Quiet as the panther he so feared he slipped out the door and down the hall, into a room he knew well, and whose occupant knew him.

With a sigh he sat, soundlessly, on the bed, so low to the floor his long legs folded like a frogs, his knees almost to his chest. He laced his fingers together and stared up at the plastic stars on the ceiling, loosing their glow so long after being charged by a source of light. The tiny body, so tiny it scared him what could happen to this person in this city, stirred, a head of black hair, as black as his brothers, popped out from beneath covers as blue as the afternoon sky.

"Hmmn, Stalker?" Mat said through his sleep, and ran hands over his face to clear dreams from his eyes. "Is Terry back?"

"Yes," was his simple answer, and he thought to say more, but as always remained silent.

"Thats good, did he get hurt?" The child was sitting now, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to mirror his own position, looking up at him with those big eyes, he never could understand how this strange friendship had developed. Only that it had, and for the first time in anything he had done, he had someone supporting him in his quest. That touched him, deep inside, in a place he hadn't even known existed.

"A small explosion in the beginning jarred his shoulder, he recovered quickly, as expected. A few cuts from shrapnel, and a very large knife, and the usual bruises, but he is well." He sat a large hand onto that very small head and felt the boy lean into it, like a cat almost. "He is resting."

"Did he come home as Batman again?" Mat laughed, and Stalker nodded, it wasn't a thing that occurred often, but it was what led the younger brother to his discovery the first time around, they both worried for the time the mother would know, and the unavoidable flip-out that would come of it.

"You know, you could always just undress him." Mat suggested and could only tell the blush in the dim light because his already shadowed face darkened all the more. The hand on his head shoved him down and he fell with a laughter like the chiming of bells.

"Sleep." His intruder commanded and he crawled back under the covers to comply, saying only one last thing before the man who wished to own his brother left.

"I think he knows you're watching him," Stalker turned to give him his attention once more, "and I don't think he minds." He shifted under the blankets, getting comfortable in the warmth once again. "That says something, don't you think?"

The window opened without a sound, and he was alone again without a reply.

"Well, I think you're both being idiots." He pouted at his little plastic stars, fading into the shadows of his roof, them smiled in a mischievous manner and rolled onto his side. "I guess its up to me then." and was asleep with that thought.

* * *

I am almost %60 certain this came out how Rin wanted it to.

Not the face Not The Face NOTTHEFACE!

_niKola_


	3. Marked

His back hit the wall with a painful scrape. It wasn't the worst he'd ever gotten, wasn't even the worst he'd had that night, he'd live with it, and he'd have said something about it too, if his lips weren't currently busy. He made a noise somewhere in his throat, but it didn't quite reach his kidnaped mouth. In his ear he heard the old man mumble something sarcastic sounding, then click off. Like he never got grabbed in his days, Terry had heard all about the Cat from Tim.

When he finally managed to tear free he didn't get the chance to use his vocals, breath coming in pants. His mask was pulled off, mussing his hair into odd looking tufts but Stalker didn't care, just gripped his throat right under the chin and looked at him, breathing just as heavy, full lips parted as he stared, those dark eyes penetrating.

"Someone else gave this to you," he rasped meanly, hand running along the bruise across his cheek, "and here," the cut that had gotten through the suit above his eyebrow, "and here." a thumb to the still tender lip from his fight with Inque that was now oozing blood, ripped back open by their kiss. "I don't care for your dancing with others, you let them mark you."

"I don't let them do anything, but saying 'my boyfriend doesn't like it when you hit me,' isn't exactly a good deterrent for most badguys."

"I'd imagine not." and they were back to kissing, the more enjoyable aspect of their relationship in Terry's mind. Not to say the possessiveness wasn't flattering, but it got in the way of his work so often. He wrapped his arms around Stalker's thick neck, the man was so much taller than him it almost intimidated him in a way, his fingers brushed the edges of old scars slashed across bare skin, he loved how the hunter was always barely dressed, loved feeling the smooth skin and raised edges of tattoos. Terry tilted his head back and invited him deeper, felt large hands slide down his spine, span his waist, grip his hips.

He sniffed a hard breath through his nose but couldn't quite hide the wince, he could rarely pull anything over on this predator, not before, less now that he knew his body so well.

"Another," it was hissed like a snake, with such simmering anger Terry half expected flames to flicker out of his mouth on a forked tongue.

"It was a fight, they hit me, I hit them harder." He took those big hands in his and held them to his chest, leaned into his body. "Nobody walks away untouched." He traced a finger down one of Stalker's own scars as a point.

"You will not let them touch you again."

"I'll try."

His grip was back on his face, both hands, palms cupping his jaw. "Try harder, your best must be better, I wont have someone unworthy take you from me." The possession in his voice would have irked a lesser man, but Terry knew what it stemmed from, knew that the concern was there, almost as much as the ownership.

He smiled, and rather than answer, pulled his lover further into the shadows on the roof, where the skylight for his apartment would swing open on command, and allow them entrance into his personal cave.


	4. Make Me

Mature Content

I began a long fic with Stalker and Terry teaming up to stop a splicer gang, but abandoned it in the brainstorming stages. I just don't want to commit myself to any more deep, complicated fics right now. I did enjoy the sexual tension I had building up, this scene is taken from many chapters into the fic where Terry and Stalker acknowledge that yes, they want to bang each other, but have more important things to worry about at the moment. This leads to a suedo-bet type agreement stemming from a "make me" style of response Terry made several scenes back, the actual dialog was never really worked out beyond the most intangible of ideas, but the scene should read less of a dub-con and more of who can make who give in first. I would say they both win, but that's for them to argue about.

They are at some business gala type engagement where they are all dressed up in suits. Terry refuses to admit he likes Stalker's cut, and just makes cracks about him not being mostly naked.

* * *

Eyes nearly black with fury Stalker moved fast, hooking fingers in Terry's tie knot and yanking, a shift of footing, a nudge with his hip, too quickly he had crowded Terry into the corner, caged him until they were pressed hard against each other. A wide, dark hand raked through his hair, gripped tight at the back of his skull.

Terry wasn't even surprised at the sudden ruthlessness, it irritated him before anything, Stalker's entire mode of communication seemed rooted in manhandling. He barely got through the thought of "at least he's in clothes," when everything blurred and that scowling, full lipped mouth swooped down hard and hot on his.

He made a sound, not an actual word, but a strangled in the throat squeal, lodged there when his throbbing heart rammed up into it. There was no hesitancy in the kiss, no request, only demand, only plunder edged with the sharp blade of enraged desire.

Confusion warred with anger slashed against instinct. His hands came up to pry himself free, but Stalker banded an arm around his waist, plastering them together and leaving him to struggle impotently against all that hard mass of muscle. His knee came up and would have scored a choice and deciding blow if it hadn't been anticipated, shifted, bounced off a thigh.

Their legs tangled, stirred something dangerous, his body responded while his mind raced off in all directions and heat that had nothing to do with temper surged through him. Desires he had so ruthlessly buried these past few days broke out of their coffins and screemed to life. Stalker pulled back, hands dragging at buttons jerking at the tie, desperate to get to bare flesh. Here was chance to break free, his mouth all that was imprisoned, then even that was released as kisses skimmed down his throat.

Oh god but THIS, this hard, physical, possesive want. His brain was fried, had to be, this body up against him was too big, too rough, too male, dimly he heard a breathless pleading voice through the buzzing in his ears, oh fuck was that HIM?

His arms banded around Stalker's neck, two taut muscled ropes across the broad plane of shoulders, as teeth scored a line two skips away from pain down his bare chest and all his thoughts dribbled out his ears.

Slag it.

His legs buckled and Stalker dragged him to the floor, seering hands and mouth were everywhere, poured lethal heat into every inch they touched as he fought to catch his breath.

Terry squirmed, kicking and straining against the pinning weight of him, but not to be free. Mind made up he writhed in dark, mindless pleasure as it swamped over him, tearing at the cloths he now cursed Stalker for digning to wear. The oaths bled into a moan when a hand cupped him, Terry bit hard on his lower lip, drew it into his mouth.

He managed to work Stalker's shirt up and off him as the man streaked down his body, the clasp of his pants tugged open, a hand cupped his knee, and there was mouth and tongue against him, forcing him into that hot spurt of greedy madness. He couldn't think, couldn't stand it.

Terry drug him back up, crushed their mouths together, there was triumph in that, in taking control. They rolled, his pants were caught on his shoes and he kicked out try to free a leg, laughed when he only made it worse. Handicapped, distracted, he lost the upper hand and was once again pinned to the unforgiving floor.

Hands, large, calloused and scarred, cuffed Terry's wrists above his head, drew his body out in one long hard line, arched back like a bow.

Stalker's senses were scattered, his nervous system a tangle of live wires that sparked and sizzled with electric jolts inside his flesh and blood. He could hear the thunder of their hearts, smell the musk of wants, tasted the salt of skin, he drowned in the sensations, the raw, primitive passion the like he had seen among the coupling wild beasts with all the threat of teeth and claws.

The need built, they pressed together, harder, rougher than intended, heady, overpowering. There was desperation now as well as demand. They moved, body to body, flesh to flesh, man to man.


End file.
